


Coal, Jade & Porcelain

by sadaakirah



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Canon, Awkwardness, Coping, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Trust, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadaakirah/pseuds/sadaakirah
Summary: Mikasa is bad with words, but she's even worse with scissors. Levi is the same, but he would rather let his actions speak for themselves.Or the one where Mikasa realizes how much she has come to trust this stubborn man.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman & Levi, Mikasa Ackerman/Levi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154





	Coal, Jade & Porcelain

Mikasa has been no stranger to men, women, children ogling her crow-black hair, her slanted eyes, and the show-pony heritage that ended up killing her Mother.

The half-oriental girl, now a woman, is used to dismissing comments about her hair with a curt _thanks._

She does not dwell on it.

There’s very few people she would let near her hair, without hesitation on her part- Armin and Eren.

Armin with his unsteady but eager fingers would braid pretty flower crowns for her when they were children. Eren would pluck the dirt out of them after she was done kicking in the shins of neighbourhood boys.

Somewhere along the way, her hair had become an extension of herself as much as her facial expressions were, as much as her lack of finesse at plucking her musings out of her mind and braiding those words together to get her thoughts across.

So when Eren had run his fingers half-heartedly through the raven locks, that had grown to mirror the length her Mother proudly carried, told her to chop it off, Mikasa did and she was done with it.

She hadn’t really wanted to.

Was it loyalty to Eren that led her to clip the hair she was growing out?

Was it because she didn’t want to think of Jean as one of those ogling perverts?

Mikasa doesn’t know the answer to those ponderings, but she recalls that memory from outside the mess hall when she had been much younger, at this exact moment.

Instead of Eren’s rough digits, it is now Kiyomi brushing through Mikasa’s locks with an elegant jade comb that probably cost more than her squad’s entire pantry for the month.

Mikasa squeezes her palms together between her thighs and tries not to pout.

The feel of another’s touch in her hair is foreign, uncomfortable and she tries to squash the nagging sensation in her throat.

“Such beautiful hair, Mikasa,” Kiyomi coos soothingly as she runs the jade teeth through the strands.

“ _Thanks_ …Thank you.”

Never one to be good with words, she tries instead to school her face into one the relays her gratefulness towards this Azumabito woman, and halts the dismissive tone that had been instinctively trying to clamber out of her throat.

After all, Kiyomi was strikingly similar to her mother, and herself, in appearance if not anything else.

Kiyomi wouldn’t be like one of those fawning perverts, Kiyomi wouldn’t look at her like some public exhibition, would she?

If Mikasa tilted her head to the left, trained her gaze on that mirror and let her eyes unfocus - ah, there, now it just reminds her of Mama.

A smile manages to tug at the corner of Mikasa’s lips. The clammy hands in between her thighs loosen their grip, and she lets herself become momentarily lulled by the jewelled teeth scraping her scalp.

“You are quite the healthy specimen, Mikasa, but Hizuru climate will do you so much better. Do give it a thought, my dear, after….well, everything, that is.”

The privilege to plan anything of a personal affair beyond a month in advance, and a day in the event of an upcoming expedition, was a luxury Mikasa could not afford, an alien idea an elite soldier could barely fathom.

That smile falters and Mikasa looks away from Kiyomi’s reflected coal-laden eyes.

“I don’t mean to upset you, my dear.” She halts brushing Mikasa’s hair. “I want the best for you.”

For a half a second Mikasa is afraid that she might have upset the older woman with an expression she couldn’t conceal in time.

Instead, Kiyomi takes Mikasa’s palms and presses the cold surface of jade into them.

“A family heirloom. You should give it to your children along with our brand, Mikasa.”

Kiyomi closes Mikasa’s fingers over the comb, as if it were an exotic bird that would fly off to freedom without a moment’s hesitation.

Mikasa swallows inaudibly, and looks down at the comb.

“You do plan on marrying and having a family, don’t you?”

Mikasa had always wanted a _family_.

An image of Eren flashes in her mind, but it is gone as quickly as it had come.

However, _marrying_ and _planning_ were not concepts a soldier would devote what was left of her waking hours pondering about.

“I have always wanted a family,” Mikasa replies in half-truths.

Kiyomi’s face brightens at the prospect.

“In that case”, Kiyomi runs her fingers once again through Mikasa’s freshly combed tresses “better start growing this out. Our Hizuru traditional wedding attire calls for the bride to have her hair done up beautifully - and oh, I just can’t wait to see our blushing bride!”

Kiyomi places strong hands onto Mikasa’s shoulders, swivelling her to face the mirror head on -unburnt coal eyes now locked onto stormy grey ones - “And I hear the crown-prince has a fondness for women with long hair too.”

Kiyomi giggles before bidding Mikasa farewell, and it rings sharply in Mikasa’s ears.

Mikasa turns the jade comb over and over in her palms, the coolness and weight of it being too much for her liking.

* * *

Mikasa couldn't sleep.

When she is certain that the squad is no longer awake, she grabs the pair of scissors kept in Sasha’s drawers and a lighted lamp from her own bedside table.

Before closing the door, she glances back into her dimly lit room. Mikasa fishes the jade comb from under her pillow and strides out into the corridor.

She makes it to the kitchen, and sits at the empty table. In her frustration she begins to snip at where the ends tickle her shoulder and the back of her neck.

Mikasa watches the dark strands fall, becoming lost in the shadows not illuminated by the soft orange flickering of the lamp.

She fists her hand into her shoddily cut locks, stills them momentarily and her face scrunches with frustration.

“You better clean that up after you’re done acting like a lunatic at two in the morning, Mikasa.”

Mikasa startles, her actions pausing at once, while she sets the pair of scissors down onto the table beside the ornate comb with a clatter.

She faces the owner of the gruff, baritone voice at the end of the table, and braces herself for ridicule.

“Yes, Captain,” she replies after finding her voice. “I’ll clean it up before bed.”

Levi is clad in a white button-up shirt, unruffled cravat and khaki pants with one arm draped lazily over the chair with a schooled look of absolute boredom plastering his face.

His cup of tea is half-full, Mikasa observes, much to her dismay, and Levi idly takes a sip, before placing the porcelain back down.

He tilts his head and studies the light flickering across Mikasa’s shoddily chopped off locks.

How long has he been there?

“Didn’t want to interrupt whatever this is,” he answers, as if sensing the question forming behind her puzzled eyes.

She must look a right fool.

Her hair is too short on one end, too long on the other side. Her fringe is a zig-zagged mess. He can’t see the back of her head, thank _Sina_ , but she’s sure that bore the brunt of her shearing.

“You look like shit.” Levi states matter-of-factly.

Mikasa knows he isn’t just talking about the circles and bags pulling under her eyes. She wants to crawl under the table and wait till he’s done drinking his tea.

His crude words held the capacity to sting, but Mikasa doesn’t quip back, and just hopes that Armin would be able to offer her hair some semblance of damage control come morning.

“What happened?”

“I…” She bites her lip refusing to voice the frustrations in her head.

“Did Eren say something?”

“N-No.” Mikasa blurts out a little too quickly for Levi’s liking, always so quick to defend Eren. Mikasa wonders why the Captain would even ask that.

Levi hasn’t moved an inch from where he sat, still nursing his cool tea, and Mikasa’s resolve finally wavers when she sees the downturn of Levi’s mouth.

“Kiyomi wants me to marry,” she blurts out.

He doesn’t bother pressing the girl for details and takes her answer at face-value with a grunt.

When she raises her eyes to meet his, she is curious about the look in his gunmetal eyes.

“So tell her you don’t want to.”

“I’m not good with words.”

Mikasa takes to cutting her hair short at two in the morning instead of telling a woman she just met that she doesn’t want to marry some strange crown prince with his strange fondness for long hair.

“No shit.”

Mikasa clenches her teeth.

Levi gets up from his chair with a screech, and hunches over the table to take the comb.

“You and I both,” Levi admits to no one and rolls the comb in his hand a few times, testing the weight of it.

She avoids his gaze as he approaches her side of the table.

“Fancy stuff.” A fringe of dark brown hair, parted down own side curtains over his disinterested eyes. “I’m guessing this is the tool Kiyomi brought to speed up the process of emotional blackmail." 

"For my children…some day, that’s what she told me.”

He doesn’t miss it, though, the mild trepidation in her voice and she knows this.

“A privilege and luxury,” Levi commented, studying the ornate heirloom. Mikasa knows he isn’t talking about the comb.

The table is quiet for a full five seconds that feels like eternity; until Levi picks up the scissors with his other hand, and runs the toothed edge of the comb down her fringe.

Mikasa’s hand shoots out and catches Levi’s wrist roughly, as she jerks her head forwards.

“Do you even know how to do this?”

Levi places his upturned palm on her forehead and gently pushes her head back into position - a complete antithesis to her flustered actions.

When Mikasa risks a glance at Levi, he meets her nervous gaze with the ghost of a smirk lurking on his features.

“Relax _brat_ , I cut my own hair and it can’t be any worse than this work of abstract art.”

Mikasa tries not to frown, but her lips pull down regardless. 

She drops her hand and sighs.

“Sorry.”

What she shares with Levi is not the comfort of Armin’s or Eren’s presence, nor the blood-bound obligations she has been feeling towards Kiyomi as of late.

Not friends, not family.

He doesn’t allow her much time to ponder over this because his touch is ever so gentle, and with the first stroke, Mikasa blinks slowly.

Soon there is only the sonorous metallic snip near her ears and the flickering of the lamp in the cool breeze.

Sometimes Mikasa is not sure how to reconcile the image of Humanity’s Strongest deluged in vaporizing Titan blood with the images of him dressed immaculately, drinking from his porcelain, taking care of Mikasa like her mother.

“Mikasa,” Levi pulls her out of her reveries, and places his forearm on her shoulder, his hand with the scissors away from her face, “you don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that.” Mikasa snaps and almost flushes at her response.

She is eager to get back to his gentle touch so before she can determine whether or not he will rebuke her for being a brat, she follows up her previous statement with a softened “I’ll remember that, Captain.”

They fall into the lull of snipping and scratching of scalp again.

Mikasa’s lids grow heavy and when she feels Levi brushing the back of her head she retires onto her folded arms upon the table.

She doesn’t realize how much time has passed in her contented trance until the single stroke of the clock signifies it is half past two.

Levi sets the scissors down and he’s already pulling her shoulder backwards so she can take a look in the small, rounded mirror of his pocket-watch.

“Oh,” she says, a single sharp word of delight and surprise.

She locks eyes with Levi in the mirror, and he meets her surprised glance with a proud smirk.

“Different, but good,” he quickly offers as he cleans the surface the scissors against the fabric of his pants.

This time she definitely flushes and pulls her gaze downwards only to find her blouse and pants free of any snippings. He must have dusted her clean while she was dozing off.

“An undercut…” Mikasa clears her throat, “and I would’ve been convinced you were trying to make a mini you out of me.”

One indignant brow is raised as she finishes her comment. 

“I did say that I cut my _own_ hair and just for that comment I’m taking this away from you.”

Levi shoves the ornate heirloom deep into his pocket along with the pocket-watch.

Mikasa slowly turns her head back to meet his eyes.

She could see the sweat run off his honeyed skin, each drop like a bead of melted wax in the dimming light against the planes of his face.

“Keep it, Captain,” she tells him with a genuine smile.

She’ll take it when she wants to, when she is ready to and no one can tell her otherwise.

Levi hums his consent, deep in his throat. He leans down and closes one of her lids gently with the pad of his thumb, an act so affectionate, it should not have been.

Mikasa could feel his hot breath fanning her face, blowing away the strands that were clinging to her face.

He smelt of black tea and the generic military-issued soap.

Levi moved his hand to place a lock behind her ear, as if placing the final touches to his work, with his thumb resting a half a second too long on the cut on her cheek.

Mikasa ever so slightly pulls into his touch but that warm hand is gone before she can blink.

The oil in the lamp is on its last leg, but she swears she can see her Captain smile in the muted orange shades, before he turns around to place his empty cup in the sink.

She thanks his retreating form when she sets off to locate the broom but doesn’t turn around to make sure if he’s heard her or not.

It is when Mikasa is sweeping the last bit of the kitchen alone that she realizes that she had fallen asleep with Captain Levi’s hands through her hair in utter, peaceful silence.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading 💓


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